A poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On that day I watched them lift highIn the tallness of being they shouldered yearsAnd stood as who they would becomeThere was sweat on their arms and mad jackalsWent stinking from their bright eyes1 see a knowledge sliding beneath this doorWhere I lean barred and gasping in horrorAnd for all that I have flung my back against itThey are the milling proofs of revelationCrowding the street beyond like roosting prophetsAnd as the children wandered off in the way of godsThe small shape was unmoving at suffering's endOn this day I watched them lift highTomorrow's wretched pantheon around stainsOn the stone where a lame dog had been trappedIn a forest of thin legs and the sticks and bricksWent up and down like builders of monumentsWhere the bowls are bronze and overflo